Seasons
by Flatpickluvr
Summary: My musings on what I think should have happened when House came home from Mayfield.
1. Chapter 1

The direction I think Season 7 should take

**A/N – Let me preface this by saying I'm a slowly-reforming Huddy. That is to say, I was a Huddy, but now I'm not quite so convinced that relationship is even a good idea, let alone something that would work. I'm a bit on the fence about it and this work of fiction is my attempt to explore what I think should or should not happen during Season 7. This is going to start with House's discharge from Mayfield, then move on quickly and pretty much ignore most of what happened during season 6. **

**Also, I really have no idea what to call this story so, when I get the proper inspiration, I'll change the title to something more appropriate. I'm going to add to it, but I want to get reviews first – they'll help me, believe me!**

**Hilson fans, this one's for you!**

Chapter 1

Those who knew him thought he was broken when he went to Mayfield. What a horrible way to describe a human being – "broken". What did they think was broken? His personality? His spirit? His sanity? If he was "broken", who broke him? People aren't just born broken, and they don't just break for no reason. More to the point, they very rarely break alone. Someone else is almost always involved, either as an enabler, a co-conspirator or some type of would-be savior. Someone else always knows the victim is breaking, and either plays along with it, does nothing to help, or doesn't know how to help. People never break without someone else knowing they're on a downhill slide long before they actually get to the "broken" stage.

He went to Mayfield a lonely, depressed chronic pain sufferer who thought, since he had lost his sanity and had to kick the Vicodin, that his only other option was to kill himself. Not that he hadn't tried to kill himself before. Every prior attempt at suicide was chalked up as some bizarre way to test or prove that he was right about some theory or another. He wanted everyone around him to think he was just that obsessed about finding the answer to some theory that he would risk his life to find the answer to some medical mystery. The last thing he wanted everyone around him to think was that he was really that depressed. But victims are often blind to what others around them actually do see. What's worse – to think that the people around you really don't know how depressed you are, or to think that they do know you are that depressed and they just don't give a damn anymore because they don't know how to help you or they don't want to help? Cuddy was clueless as to how to help him when he was in the throes of full-out psychosis. Wilson should have had him committed involuntarily after he tried to kill himself with the insulin, but he did help immensely by making the arrangements for House to be admitted to Mayfield when even Wilson recognized that there was no other option. It was incredibly sad that it took so many suicide attempts to make Wilson realize that House was beyond any ability to help himself.

During the trip to Mayfield, Wilson had plenty of time to ponder how he could have been so blind to his friend's condition.

Seven weeks of inpatient detoxing and psychotherapy later, which House endured alone because none of his "significant others" even visited him let alone made any attempt to get involved, he was discharged from Mayfield and made the long trip back to his home alone. Alone again because nobody even came to pick him up. While he was in Mayfield, Lydia was good for him, but like Stacy before her, that relationship didn't last. He never expected it to. After the sex, that'd be that. And that's exactly what happened.

Of the relationships that had passed the test of time, and he only had two, neither of them was there for him when he needed them most.

He walked out of Mayfield on a bright, sunny day, looking forward to recovery, and was forced to ride the bus home, alone. As fate would have it, the bus that pulled up to the bus stop was identical to the one in the horrific bus crash in which he was badly injured and Amber was fatally wounded. Wonderful. Why couldn't he enjoy some tiny little part of his recovery without Fate throwing in some huge obstacle, showing yet again that happiness always comes with a price?

Part of his psychotherapy involved learning how to form and nurture healthy interpersonal relationships; how to trust other people. What did it say about his recovery when he thought he was ready to get back into life, but was forced to start this new phase of his life alone because neither Wilson nor Cuddy, two of his closest acquaintances, was there to accompany him home?

He knew ahead of time that one of the conditions of his discharge was that he was to reside, at least temporarily, with someone else. He was not to live alone. Given that he only had two relationships currently, and only one of them really involved any kind of friendship, he decided to take Wilson up on his offer. Which was what made the bus ride "home" (well, to Wilson's, anyway) that much more difficult of a test to try to pass.

_I'm being forced to camp out with Wilson, but in order to get to Wilson's, I have to ride alone on this Death Bus for Cutie and remember the bus crash and my head injury and Amber's death all the way back to Amber's boyfriend's house. _

In the table of pros and cons, why do there always have to be two cons for every pro?


	2. The long road home

Seasons chapter 2

He knew that Wilson had talked with Dr. Nolan prior to his discharge from Mayfield. He wasn't allowed to live alone. Wilson wasn't about to leave Amber's shrine, and Cuddy had her own little secret bed-buddy that not even House knew about. House didn't know it at the time, but Wilson did ask Cuddy if she'd mind at least letting him rent a room from her while he received outpatient psychotherapy. She had her own little secret to hide at the time that she didn't even want Wilson to know about, let alone House, so she quickly said she didn't think it would be a good idea. So Wilson agreed with Dr. Nolan's suggestion that he move in with Wilson, at least temporarily.

During that long, lonely ride to Wilson's on the bus from Mayfield, he analyzed all possible reasons why Wilson would agree to this living arrangement when, for the last seven weeks, the only contact Wilson had with him was when he was still in denial about his depression and called Wilson. That phone call ended when Wilson hung up on him. He knew that he could have moved into a halfway house after his discharge, with a plan to allow him to eventually move back into his own home after successful continued outpatient psychotherapy. Early on in his stay at Mayfield, Dr. Nolan and Dr. Beasley began discharge planning with House. He had been advised early on that if he could live at least temporarily with someone else after his discharge from the hospital, then his chances of a permanent recovery from his depression would rise significantly. Even after successful inpatient treatment, even he knew that going home to an empty house would probably result in relapse. He'd either relapse back on the Vicodin or the booze or else the depression would get the better of him. One, two, or all three of those things would catch up with him and he'd be even worse off than he was the first time. And then there was the pain, his constant unwanted companion. Good relationships AND good pain management never seemed to go hand-in-hand for him. Before his hospitalization, the only component in his life that never left his side WAS his pain. People came and went, and could not be relied upon, but the pain never left entirely and was the only thing he could rely on. Now he knew he had to try to rely on someone else, which was really uncharted territory for him. All the psychotherapy and practice scenarios he'd gone through in the hospital had shown him that he could jump into the relationship pool and not drown. He'd even survived the unintentional test that Lydia had posed. Lydia wasn't supposed to be part of his therapy. She appeared in his life when he was most vulnerable. When Stacy left him all those years ago, his life completely fell apart. The only thing that happened after Lydia left was that he went back to Dr. Nolan for help. Lydia posed the most difficult test of his psychiatric recovery, and he aced that test when he went back to Dr. Nolan for help.

Now it was a matter of jumping into the same waters with Wilson and passing the same test outside the hospital.

About halfway to Wilson's on the bus, his outlook began to change just a little. He got on the bus just purely happy to be out of Mayfield. Then the fear set in. You could see it in the guarded expression on his face a few miles away from the hospital. About halfway to Wilson's, though, the fear began to slowly dissipate and was slowly replaced by a look of determination. Yes, this was a test. He'd analyzed this to death and decided to think of it in terms of a multiple choice question. He grabbed a pencil from his suitcase and a piece of notepaper, and started writing. Was there only one right answer?

Question: Why would Wilson want me to move in? Circle the best answer.

Wilson has an innate need to be needed; an innate need to protect those who he thinks need protection

Wilson needs someone to fill the hole in his heart that Amber's death left

Wilson feels responsible and maybe guilty for letting my obvious signs of clinical depression and psychosis go un-addressed for far too long

Wilson loves me

Wilson just wants to repay me for letting him stay at my house during his divorces

None of the above

B and C

B, C, and D

All of the above

He hoped the paper was thick and sturdy enough to stand up to all the erasing he was doing while contemplating the answer to this one question.

He'd try his darndest to make it work at Wilson's but if it didn't work, the halfway house actually may be a wonderful idea, so he had a plan B to fall back on if plan A didn't work out. Yes, Wilson was plan A. The halfway house was plan B, and Cuddy was plan F or maybe even plan Z. Oops, he skipped a few letters in there somewhere. Oh well!

Answer H it was, then. That lopsided grin made a welcome re-appearance and he was looking forward again, this time with less apprehension, to his continued recovery.


	3. Crossing the threshold

**A/N – No Hilson in this chapter, but we're getting there! Hang on! As mentioned before, very soon now we're going to skip past most of season 6 (most of it was forgettable anyway) and then focus on the point of the story, which is to explore what may, may not, and should happen in Season 7. I will try to keep any spoilers out of the story but there may be a few for what I think will happen in January…so beware.**

As the bus got closer to Wilson's, he got up out of his seat a little more slowly than usual and pulled his suitcase down from the overhead rack. Limbs get stiff after so long sitting in one place, especially disabled ones. Balancing with the cane in one hand and the suitcase in the other on a moving bus would be quite difficult for a neophyte cane user, but with his years of practice, he made it look like a choreographed dance move.

He thump, thump, thumped down the steps of the bus, banging the suitcase on every step. Then thump, thump, thump up Wilson's steps. Now his leg was really beginning to ache fiercely, but it was a new day, and he was narcotic-free for however long it would last this time. He knocked on the door but there was no answer. Wilson must be at work. As he felt around his pockets and in his suitcase for the spare key to Wilson's place, he contemplated popping a few ibuprofen. What a simple, automated, thoughtless action this had been when he was taking Vicodin. Hand in pocket, pop a few pills. Things were different now, and would require some thought. He had the ibuprofen, but the bottle was in his suitcase. He wouldn't keep the ibuprofen in his pockets because the rattle of a pill bottle in any pocket brought the Vicodin cravings back that were still just simmering under the surface. He was caught in a strange place; a recovering opiate addict who really needed narcotic pain relief. Unlike his fellow narcotic addicts in any of the rehab programs he'd been in, he had a legitimate need for narcotic pain relief. He just had trouble separating physical from psychic pain.

He would try to get by on ibuprofen alone because he had to pass the test they'd set up for him. They taught him to take each day one at a time. So each day would be a test. Get through each day without any narcotics and someone, Nolan he guessed, maybe Wilson too, would consider that a success. He himself wasn't exactly sure what he would consider a success. A day without narcotics AND without pain would be ideal, but since that wasn't possible, where should he set the bar? He wasn't sure. He'd hoped that he could have decided where he should set the bar while he was still at Mayfield, but that hadn't happened yet. He'd established a trusting relationship with Dr. Nolan, something he never thought in a million years he'd ever be able to do with anyone, and hoped that Nolan would help him decide where he should set his bar.

He slipped the spare key in the lock and he stopped for a second. He wasn't quite sure why he thought the lock might have been changed, but for a fleeting second he thought maybe this all might be just a cruel joke; one more price to have to pay for some past misdeed. He'd have survived this long seven week test and had a place to stay at Wilson's temporarily, only to find the lock had been changed and this was all a horrible nightmare. He breathed a heavy sigh of relief and even cracked a smile when the door opened and a wonderful surprise, something totally unexpected, awaited him on the other side of the threshold.


	4. Welcome Home House

Seasons chapter 4

**A/N – Although this isn't a continuation of my Zapped story, I decided to bring Anne back; the ICU nurse who understood House and cared for him so well in that story. I got a lot of nice reviews about her and I thought she should make a return visit. Sorry for the delay in updating, but my muse abandoned me temporarily and I lost inspiration. The story will probably wrap up in the next chapter which will be almost exclusively Hilson. This chapter doesn't treat Wilson very well, but never fear! The questions raised in this chapter about why Wilson behaved as he did will be answered in the next chapter with lots of good Hilson stuff.**

His mom and Anne were sound asleep; his mom on Wilson's couch and Anne in Amber's old wing chair. Anne! Wilson must have thought of her from several years ago when House electrocuted himself. When he saw Anne, he dropped the suitcase AND the cane. Loud and hard. The clatter woke both women.

House was stunned. He was speechless, and at least momentarily, elated. It wasn't obvious on his face, however. Seven weeks of psychotherapy had done wonders but he'd had fifty years' worth of practice hiding his emotions and seven weeks of therapy would not undo that. His facial features displayed no emotion other than slightly widened eyes. He wondered how they got in here when Wilson obviously wasn't home. _I guess Wilson must have picked Mom up from the airport before heading back to work. Great. That means Mom knows what happened to me. He cared more about picking Mom up than he did about picking me up. And how did Anne get here? I guess the gossip mill must really be gearing up._

Blythe walked over, handed him his cane, watching him closely all the while. She wasn't sure how he would feel about her, since she hadn't visited him once in Mayfield and suddenly here she was, by surprise, back in his life again. She thought he still loved her, but judging by the lack of expression on his face, it was difficult to tell.

He hugged her somewhat awkwardly. He wasn't quite sure why she felt she needed to be here when it had been years since he'd seen her, but then a relationship was a two way street. If there were any strains in his relationship with his mother, he was just as much at fault as she, since he'd made no effort to see her either. The only time he did see her was at his dad's funeral, and that was only because Wilson dragged him along for the ride. Not to mention the fact that he and Wilson had caused quite a scene when Wilson threw the liquor bottle through the window at the funeral home.

He and his mother engaged in an awkward hug and all the time House was actually looking over Blythe's shoulder at Anne.

They released each other and House muttered "Oh my God, I can't believe you're here." Blythe thought he was talking to her, but House was looking at Anne when he said it. "The ICU let you off the leash long enough to actually have some away time? Does Cuddy know you played hooky?"

Anne said "Yeah, and welcome home to you too! Cuddy's clueless about how to staff an ICU. Now let's move on to more pleasant conversation." She added one more barb, knowing House's hatred of inane platitudes. "You look great, you know," Anne said with a wicked grin.

"Yeah, I'm a stud. And as much as I like being the only rooster in a henhouse full of hens, I didn't spend an hour on the bus by myself just to spend more time standing still in Wilson's foyer, chitting the chat. Let me change out of this stuff and then I need to stretch out on the couch", he said, alternating his stare between his mother and Anne. _I can't believe Wilson had them babysit me_, he thought, _but boy it's nice that they're here._

An hour and a nice hot bath later, House, resplendent in his cotton pajama bottoms and Pink Floyd tee shirt, was ensconced on the couch with the TV on watching something about the celebrated history of the Philadelphia Flyers hockey team. A day or so before his scheduled discharge from Mayfield, Blythe arrived from Lexington and Wilson had stocked the fridge with everything all four of them would need for a few days. Anne wasn't planning on staying overnight since she had to get back to work, but when she heard what House had been through, she wanted to show her support for him by just being there even if he wasn't in a mood to talk. Anne wasn't too sure how he'd react to his mother's presence, and felt she needed to be there to run interference between House and his mother while Wilson was at work. House seemed as comfortable as he could be stretched out on the couch in front of the TV, and had started to relax a bit. Anne put a heating pad out where he could reach it, and when he drifted off to sleep, she went into the kitchen to make some iced tea and fix something for them to eat. Blythe was in the guest bedroom making sure that everything was ready for her son.

When Anne was sure that House was asleep, she went back to the guest bedroom.

"Mrs. House, what's going on with Dr. Wilson? I think something is really off. Really odd."

"What do you mean, Anne?"

"I heard that Greg had no visitors the entire time he was in Mayfield." Seeing Blythe's expression change suddenly, Anne added "I'm not blaming you. I'm talking about Dr. Wilson. Don't you think it's weird that Dr. Wilson would tell Greg he could move in with him, when Dr. Wilson never visited him once in the seven weeks he was in the hospital? Every time someone is in the hospital, some sort of discharge planning takes place before they are discharged. In Greg's case, I'm sure whoever his care team was, they started discharge planning on him right after he was admitted. Normally, discharge planning also involves the patient and/or the patient's family/friends. Did anyone from Mayfield contact you when Greg was admitted?"

"No, but Anne, I'm a little uncomfortable having this conversation. I'm sure whatever Greg went through there is private."

"Greg should never have had to suffer alone!" Anne shot back. "But relax, I'm not blaming you. Since they never contacted you, and Dr. Wilson actually drove him to Mayfield, don't you think it's odd that he would just drop Greg off at the door to the hospital and then leave him completely alone for seven weeks? I don't want to do anything to violate Greg's privacy but Greg knows what I've been through with my illnesses. I know what it's like to suffer. Nobody deserves to suffer alone. When I lost my leg, I had visitors beating down the door to be with me and they were all wonderful. As miserable as I was, I had friends and family with me and they were a wonderful help. I just think it's so odd that Wilson would dump him off at the door of a mental hospital, drop completely out of Greg's life for the next seven weeks, suddenly invite Greg to live with him, and then not be here when Greg arrived home. I'm just thinking out loud, that's all. They may be friends, but it's an ironic relationship, isn't it? Probably ought to stop talking like this and get back out to the living room. He might be waking up."

Mercifully, he appeared to be out for the count. Blythe sat down in a nearby chair and stared silently at her softly snoring son. _How am I supposed to feel, when his friend calls me two days before his discharge and tells me my son voluntarily committed himself to a psychiatric institution? I find out he's been there for seven weeks! I find out he went through narcotic withdrawal alone, ALONE for God's sake… The fact that I heard all of this from Wilson and not from my son…. How am I supposed to deal with this? Why wouldn't my son feel like he could confide in me? He can confide in a man who would dump him in a mental hospital and leave him alone for seven weeks, but he can't confide in his own mother? He can confide in a man who obviously leaked sensitive information to another friend of my son's, but he can't confide in me? How am I supposed to feel? What do I say to him? I'm here for as long as he needs me. I just hope he really does need me, and I hope I figure out how to help if he's willing to let me help him. He always says he's fine, and obviously he's not._

"Mom, stop staring at me. I'm awake." Greg muttered softly, eyes still closed. The absent-minded rubbing of his right thigh had turned into a deep massage. Although his eyes were closed, the grimace on his face belied the next few words he uttered. "I'm fine. I don't need anything."

"Honey, you're not fine. Stop telling me that you are. We should talk, and it can wait until you're not hurting so badly. I'm sure all that time sitting still on the bus didn't help." She moved to his side gently and held his hand. "What can I do to help? Don't tell me nothing."

"I could use two extra strength ibuprofen and a cup of coffee." Anne heard him from the kitchen and brought the requested items to him. "Coffee goes well with ibuprofen, does it? What do you do, wash the bitter down with something that's even more bitter?"

"Nope, bring some sugar in. Pretty please?"

Thirty minutes later, the coffee was gone and he was looking decidedly better. They'd all moved to the dining room table and Anne was getting ready to leave. "I just wanted to make sure you were alright when you got here. I need to get back home. Cuddy may not know how to staff an ICU but she does know how to listen to my boss, and my boss will have my ass if I'm not at work tonight. I'll see you later." Anne said goodbye to Greg and his mother and made her way out to her car.

"She's moving pretty well, isn't she, Greg?" Blythe commented. House just looked at his mother blankly.

"Mom, why are you here?"


	5. Beginning to understand

Seasons chapter 5

**Author's Note – I had a hard time keeping House from being sappy and emotional. I rewrote this chapter a lot. It would be easy to make him overly sappy and emotional, having to explain to his mother why he was in a psych hospital. I'm trying to keep him as in character as I can.**

"Wilson told me you were in a psychiatric hospital."

"Yes, but why are you here? I mean, we haven't talked since Dad's funeral."

"You're my son, and whether you admit it or not, you need me. I need you too. I need to be sure that whatever happened to you to cause you to have to go to that hospital doesn't happen again, and I need you to know you can rely on me. Why didn't you tell me things were this bad?"

House looked at her quietly. He knew what he wanted to say. Up until seven weeks ago, he'd never have said it. Seven weeks of rearranging his brain had taught him that he could say it, that he could trust his mother enough to know that he could open up to her and she wouldn't abandon him. He took a few moments of careful thought and opened his mouth.

"Mom, I'm sorry you had to find out about my hospitalization from Wilson. I'm not the caring-till-I-implode kind of guy. I'm not all touchy feely. I had a hard enough time dealing with it myself. I didn't want to unburden on you."

"Greg, when your father was alive, I understood why you never wanted to spend any time with us after you moved out. You must have hated me as much as you hated your father. I didn't know what to do to help you while you were growing up under his fist. I probably should have just left and taken you with me. We all have to live with our mistakes. I have the chance to try to make up lost time with you. Please let me help you. You SHOULD unburden on me."

House looked unwaveringly at her, kept quiet for a moment, then began to speak.

"I hate living alone. I always used to wind up alone because my relationships were always superficial. I hate talking about this but talking about it is a test for me, a test I have to pass. Every day is a test now. I have to get through every day one day at a time or I'm going to wind up right back there. Everybody lies, and I'm no saint. I said relationships were superficial. Mine were, anyway. I don't know if it was my fault or the other person's, but every relationship I was ever in was fine while it was new, but once the newness wore off, the commitment to make the relationship work kind of vanished along with the excitement. I always thought it would just be easier to be alone. But I hate being alone. You must have been alone like that too, even with Dad there."

"Yes" was all Blythe could say. Her heart was breaking for her son, but what he needed now was for her to listen all the way through to what he had to say.

"I'm not alone now, Mom." House studied her, wondering how much detail he'd have to go into before she really understood what he meant by that statement.

"I know, son. I'm here."

"Yes, but you have your life to go back to in Lexington. Mom, I wound up getting myself admitted because I was pretty much doing nothing but two things. I worked, then when I went home from work, I numbed myself out. I spent all my time at home trying to stay as numb as I could, because my leg hurt and I was clinically depressed. I'm the king of difficult diagnoses, but I couldn't diagnose my own depression. My leg never stops hurting, and depression exacerbates physical pain. Nothing mattered anymore because I was using my Vicodin prescription and the booze to numb myself. I couldn't even think straight at work. I wasn't rational at work, and I didn't even know I wasn't being rational. Mom, I was hallucinating. Loneliness, depression, pain, narcotics and booze got to be more than I could handle and I had Wilson take me to the hospital."

"Oh God, Greg. I'm so sor…."

"Don't say it, Mom. I know you are. You have nothing to be sorry about. You didn't do this to me. Neither did Dad. Everybody's life sucks in one way or another. But not everybody has clinical depression. It's a disease. You don't have it. I do. Some things in my life made it worse, but now I know what I have and I know what I have to do to treat it."

"Greg, what can I do?"

"I'm not really a hundred percent sure that I know everything I should be doing. I just know what I learned in the hospital. First, I have to take every day one day at a time. I can't think in terms of months or years down the road. Second, I do love you. I don't hate you. You're doing the best you can, just like all the rest of us. I need you to live your life. I have my own life. I'd like knowing we can talk whenever we want but don't change because of me."

He continued to look intently at her while she digested what he'd just said. She was going to need time to digest what he was about to say, too.

"Mom, I said a few minutes ago that I wasn't alone now."

"I know, son. I'm not sure what you mean by that, but it sounds like I'm about to find out," she said, her voice trailing away a little bit. She searched his face for some change of expression, some clue as to where he was going with this.

"I bet you are wondering why Wilson isn't here to welcome me back home. If you aren't, well, I think you probably are. He didn't come to see me in the hospital either. For about the first two weeks, I really wasn't aware of anything. I did crazy stuff. I tried to con my doctor into letting me out of there before I was ready to be discharged. I called Wilson once and told him all kinds of crazy stuff. He listened to all the crazy stuff I said, trying to con my doctor, and I guess he realized I wasn't making any sense because he hung up on me. That's what detoxing does to a person. I wouldn't have known if Jesus Himself came to visit me. It took about two weeks before my mind and body were clear enough to even have the capacity to think about anyone besides myself."

"That's why I didn't call you. I wasn't thinking clearly or logically about anything for weeks. It hurt me more than I could ever say that Wilson never came to see me. I will never forgive him for that but I kind of think I understand why he didn't come."

House hesitated again, continued looking at his mother, and bored straight ahead.

"Every relationship I've ever had has blown up in my face, including my friendship with Wilson. The difference is, Wilson keeps coming back. Actually," he screwed his face up a bit, "we kind of keep coming back to each other." House kept looking at Blythe, and slowly her expression began to change. He wasn't quite sure what was going through her mind yet, but clearly something was registering.

"I will never forgive him for not visiting me in there, but looking back on it I think we needed that time away from each other." He was clearly getting more uncomfortable with the direction this conversation was taking, but if he'd learned anything from the hospital, he'd have to trust his mother. "Mom I don't know how to say the rest of this." Understanding dawned on Blythe's face with that statement.

"Greg, are you gay?"

**A/N – Ok, I'm going to be mean and leave you hanging for another chapter!**


	6. Not alone

"I don't know. I just know Wilson and I need each other."

"What about Lisa Cuddy? What about Stacy?"

He was starting to avoid her now. He'd said all he was planning on saying about that subject. She could see how uncomfortable he was. "Son, I can't just walk away from this conversation and leave it at that. I have no problem if you are gay. I need to know if you have someone you can lean on, someone stable in your life, when I go back home."

"Cuddy was a fantastic one night stand I had years and years ago, in college. You know how they say you get what you dish out? It came around full circle when I interviewed for a job at PPTH with the chief medical officer. See, hospitals have this chain of command. They have an administrator, then under the administrator they have something like a chief medical officer, a chief operating officer, a chief financial officer, maybe a couple other executives too. Then under the CMO or CEO or COO or CFO or whatever, they have department heads like me. Department heads interview with and report to their direct supervisor – usually. Usually the Administrator only deals directly with a handful of chief executives and the board of directors. It's kind of rare that an Administrator would deal directly, on a daily basis, with a department head. Not at PPTH, though. Cuddy is not my CMO. My CMO (Chief Medical Officer) reports to her. At any other hospital, breaking the chain of command is pretty much tantamount to an act of treason and you'd be forced out. At PPTH, Cuddy has her hands in everything. She doesn't trust her subordinates. My supervisor is my CMO. Cuddy is not my supervisor. But she's injected herself into every aspect of my job. I can't just report to my CMO because Cuddy interferes in everything I do. I love my job and in order to keep it, I have to tolerate Cuddy. She's nice and everything, and god, she's got a body that won't quit. I don't really know any other way to deal with her besides flirting. I know it's screwy. I wouldn't HAVE to deal with her so much if she didn't inject herself into every one of my cases, into every one of my staff's personnel issues. I can't avoid her. I think she loves me. I like her, and by LIKE I mean she's pretty and I would jump her bones in a minute. I will always want to jump her bones, repeatedly, but she's my boss! I know it sounds weird but all I ever want to do with her is jump her bones. I don't want anything more. That kind of relationship never lasts. It didn't last with Stacy, and that's why Wilson's wives left him too. So every day, Cuddy and I do this twisted tease and flirt dance, which I can't seem to avoid, and that's all there ever is to it. I need more than what she can give."

"If by 'gay' you mean 'am I attracted sexually to other men', then no, I'm not. But Wilson and I need each other. Women come into and go out of our lives like dust in the wind. Wilson and I are the only constants in each other's lives. I'm not gay, but Wilson and I will always be in each others' lives. When I say I am not alone, that's what I mean."

"I think Wilson didn't come to visit me in the hospital because he's not sure if he is gay or not. I personally don't care if he is or if he isn't. I want him to be happy.

I think he's still working that out for himself. Yeah, it does bother me that he didn't see me in the hospital but I do understand. The medical community here is a pretty tight circle. Everybody knows each other. He knows Nolan and he probably knows Beasley and Medina too. It doesn't bother me what people think of me, but Wilson does care what people think of him. If he's in the closet, that's his business. In a psychiatric institution, everyone is out to find out everything about everyone else and that includes visitors. Once Lydia and I hooked up at Mayfield, everyone knew we had hooked up. If Wilson had been a regular visitor, it wouldn't have been long before the rumor mill got going about him too. I think he'll figure it out pretty soon when Sam leaves him, and I'll still be there to pick up the pieces just like he picks up my pieces."

Blythe reached out to hug her son. Greg, unused to such an invasion of his personal space, backed away for a minute and then shrugged his shoulders. He looked at his mother, flashed a small lopsided grin and said "Oh, for God's sake, get it over with!"


End file.
